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STAVE ONE — After the Party
“Sheena! Wake up! It’s 7:30!” She tugged at her girlfriend’s arm — hard. In denial and despite the urgency in her voice, Sheena’s body declined a suitable response.
“Sheena Zayed!” Alya’s tone, upping itself from double-quick to double-quick and shrill, jarred the sleepy girl from her fuzzy haze, which, slowly fading, prompted a wussy sort of moan.
“Whaaa…ah…huh? Where…where am I?”
Alya tugged even harder, and Sheena’s eyes shot open. “Oh. It’s you,” she said. “I’m tired, Alya. Go away.”
“We have to get out of here, Sheena!” Alya mouthed. “Listen to me! I’ll lift his arm. You slide out from under him!”
“His what? His arm? Who is…WHO IS HIM?”
Hesitantly turning her head, Sheena looked. Whoever he was, he was handsome and smiling composedly, he was sound asleep. “He’s a big one, Alya.” Heavy on her chest, his muscled limb lay limply. “Shit Alya, who the fuck is he?”
“WHO? Who is HE? You can’t be serious! He’s the biker you picked up last night; that’s who HE is!”
“Last night? Oh! Last night!” By then, Sheena’s eyes, having cleared, were following the length of the man’s tattoo, a greenish, angry-looking dragon venting fire shards at a naked, helpless maiden. The monster’s image extended the full-length of his arm, its pointy tail ending mid-bicep, its menacing head at his wrist. The maiden, provocatively naked and big-boobed, huddled defensively, clinging to his middle finger for protection.
Plainly impatient, Alya hissed, “He’s not just any biker! He’s a Pagan! He’s Vince Carino, you idiot! You slept with him. Sheena, Jesus! You have your period! Are you crazy? You need to stop doing that!”
Sheena shifted her body weight, her eyes nervously darting over the tousled bedcovers. “What are you doing?” She asked.
“What do you think I’m doing!” Alya questioned. “I’m checking to see if my best friend bothered to protect her fucking self from her fucking self, that’s what I’m fucking doing! Did you? Did you make him wear a…I’m not finding it…I mean, them!”
“You’re not finding what?”
“Sheena, did he even bother to use a condom?” Alya’s sharp blue eyes raked the floor, and not discovering the evidence she sought, she rustled through the wastebasket. “Shit! Fuck! Damnit, Sheena! There’s nothing! You fucked him, bareback!”
“No ‘ums’! The party’s over! We need to get out of here…right now!”
“The party!” Alya’s mind instantly brimmed with snapshots from the previous night: the noise, the packed rooms, catching sight of his cut-off vest, Veena clinging to Luca! Shit! What else? A guy! That guy! THIS GUY! “Don’t wake him up, Alya,” Sheena pleaded. “I remember now. We smoked some weed…”
Snarling incredulously, Alya pointed. “Is this what you call SOME WEED?”
Embarrassed, Sheena glanced at the remnants of three engorged roaches resting none too innocently in a filthy ashtray. “Shit! Triple shit!” She snapped.
“It helps to know what you’re smoking, Sheena, just like it helps to know who you’re smoking with!”
Playing Dopey to her worried friend’s Grumpy, Sheena acknowledged that her behavior the previous evening was so stupid she could not bring herself to find fault with Alya’s early-morning reproof.
“Sheena,” Alya hissed again. “Check your tampon. Is it in there or not? Check!”
Sheena’s look turned doubly apprehensive, and she ran her fingers down past her naked stomach, where they came to rest between parted legs. Tugging the string, she cringed. “Fuck, it’s…it is there!” With that disturbing revelation, Grumpy’s dismay hardened all the more.
“Maybe it’s a good sign,” Alya offered. “Maybe you didn’t…”
“My butt…it stings something awful, Alya,” Sheena reluctantly admitted. Reaching further, she cautiously touched the puckered tenderness of her anus before withdrawing her hand from under the covers. Raising it, she caught the early morning light filtering through the sticky, translucent, fluid webbing her fingers. “Shit!” Sheena repeated.
“Shit,” Alya echoed.
Shoving his arm aside, Sheena slowly sat up. As her feet landed on the cold floor, the biker stirred but did not awaken. Instead, snoring loudly, he rolled onto his back, his burly chest on parade.
Sheena’s head was spinning. “That weed blew me away,” she said, admitting the obvious.
Squatting on all fours, Alya sifted through the tangled mess of clothing strewn about the floor, plopping bra, panties, and tousled jeans onto her friend’s lap. Slipping into the bra, Sheena pulled the jeans to her hips and clutching the blouse, she meekly followed Alya into the hallway where she suddenly hesitated. “Let’s go,” Alya urged.
Sheena wavered. “Alya, wait. Have you got something to write with?” Alya, searching her purse, pulled out a purple sharpie and handed it to her.
“I need to make a statement,” Sheena said. Reaching back, she unhooked her bra, slipped canlı bahis it from her shoulders, and penned her phone number over one of the cups.
“Now what?” Alya disbelievingly asked. Turning, Sheena glanced back at her slumbering fuck-buddy. Like a child trapped in a man’s body, he smiled, while clutching the pillow like a favorite teddy bear. “What is it, Sheena?” Alya demanded.
“Wait here!” Sheena insisted. Retreating to the room, she carefully laid the bra next to the sleeping giant. Then, pulling on her tattered blouse, she stumbled back outside.
“You all right, Sheena?” Alya asked as the pair walked out onto the front steps leading down to the street.
Less embarrassed than she should have been, Sheena admitted, “We ass-fucked, Alya.”
“Yuck,” Alya lamented. “It happened with that other guy too, that what’s-his-name. Anyway, was it good, at least?”
“Don’t know,” Sheena confessed. “I can’t remember. I just know we did it.”
“I’m sure of one thing, I’m dribbling.” Sheena pointed out. “Let’s go, Hun. I need alone-time in a hot bath.” Following her girlfriend out to the street, she felt the chill of the autumn air and shivering, she hesitated a final time.
“What?” Alya guardedly asked.
“Did Luca say anything?”
“Of course not. He left early with that girl Veena, the French-speaking Irish slut, the one who downed champagne like a Stormtrooper; at least I think it was French. Anyway, halfway through the party, they took off on his bike. He’s a prick. I hate him.”
Stepping onto the sidewalk, Sheena turned and faced her protective girlfriend. “I thought he was seeing Jitka?”
Alya rolled her eyes. “Jitka wasn’t invited,” she snidely revealed. “Luca dumped her for that illegal Irish bitch. Everybody knows about European girls; that they’re all sluts.”
Nodding, Sheena feigned indifference, then, turning sober and gazing back at the building, she mumbled, “It’s my best bra.”
“Hope it works out for you, Sheena,” Aly added.
STAVE TWO — Zach’s Party
Sheena had first spied the mouthwatering Vince Carino at Zach’s birthday bash.
Zach is tight with Alya’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, Bishu Dey. Bishu invited Alya to the party, and she invited the reluctant Sheena.
“Ever since the incident with Luca, you’ve turned into a boring lump, Sheena,” the possessive Alya chided. “You need to come with us. Zach has invited the bikers, the 69ers! Who knows? Maybe rival gangs will gatecrash the place. Just picture it, Pagans and 69ers at the same happening! Maybe they’ll get into a big fight or something.” Sheena responded with a distressing look.
“I hate those things,” Sheena insisted. “Noise, smoke, mean biker thugs on the hunt for sex objects — meaning me! Us!”
To please Alya, but mostly to shut her up, Sheena, after wriggling into the tightest black leather leggings imaginable, did her best to accept that noise, smoke, and mean biker thugs, might actually be fun.
Once there, and, as the girls stepped from their cab, it became clear the party’s racket was already well advanced as drunken carousers spilled out of the house onto Flatbush Avenue. Moments later, the girls were pushing and shoving their way up the steps, steps deliberately narrowed by rowdy, catcalling gang members.
“Hey, baby doll,” the tallest of them idly drawled. “Nice ass. Come sit right here?” He patted his knee, the one not already occupied by that Fox News bitch, Julie Banderas, who, as usual, looked down her straitlaced nose at Sheena.
“There ain’t no empty seats inside, beautiful,” the biker nagged. Cute as he was, Sheena steeled herself, answering with an abrupt, “No, thanks.” Instead, she poked fun at the out of place T.V. news anchor. “What’s the matter, Julie? No bad news to spread around the airwaves? No Harvey Weinstein rapes?”
The stunning Julie Banderas threw her the finger, but Sheena just smiled and looked away. Glancing up and down the busy street, one lined with sleeping Harleys, her eyes came to rest on four NYPD cruisers standing sentry at either end of the block. With their flashers on and burley cops eyeing the party’s spillage, they were hard to miss, and she wondered if the place might be targeted for a police raid.
“Great! The cops are here.” Sheena grumbled into Alya’s ear. “You wait; they’re gonna bust the fucking place! I don’t need this shit! I only just started my library job, and they don’t…” Alya, already hanging onto the hateful Bishu Dey, waved her off.
Once inside, and amidst a sea of mostly unknown faces, the little entourage navigated through a cloud of marijuana smoke. Straight away, Alya, towed by the perpetually inconsiderate Bishu, melted into the reeking potpourri.
A confusing moment later, Sheena bumped into Luca, who was standing with that standoffish Irish girl who, a little too pompously, modeled an oversized 69er’s Club jacket. Hanging onto him possessively, she tossed her head bahis siteleri back and, straight from a half-empty bottle, she gulped champagne.
Of course, Luca glared at her. It’s who he is, Sheena thought, remembering how the ill-mannered biker had stopped talking to her after she said “fuck you” to playing his smutty game.
For the moment, however, Sheena, opting for nonchalance, shouted at Luca’s girlfriend, asking, “WHERE’S THE BATHROOM?”
Luca, polishing off a colossal glass of sudsy beer, lowered his glass, and stood mute. Then, employing his sleeve in that vulgar way of his, he wiped the froth from his scruffy beard and nodded in the direction of some cool-looking guy standing on the other side of the room.
God forbid he pays attention to me, Sheena thought. Meanwhile, the girl he was with offered a sly half-smile before pointing in the direction of a line of impatient-looking women standing in the back hallway awaiting their turn to pee.
“Thanks,” Sheena said, pretending she did not care about the way Luca treated her. Her eyes worked the place as she stepped away, ranging past indistinct faces in search of whomever.
A brief moment later, she spotted whomever, the same whomever Luca had motioned toward earlier. It was a fleeting glimpse, but the man’s chiseled features and manicured goatee, framed by longish, dark, wavy hair, reinforced Sheena’s initial attraction.
Though taken by the look of him, Sheena was mostly drawn to the “One Percenter” outlaw patch displayed on his tattered denim vest, a statement that he was a Pagan, making him noticeably out of place at a party brimming with belligerent 69er’s. Yet he moved about comfortably, almost like he belonged. Wanting a closer look, Sheena moved in, but as luck would have it, his impressive form evaporated when she blinked.
Beset by panic, she tore at the place, and though it took another moment, her darting eyes finally recaptured him. He had moved and had his back to the very same hallway entrance, where, already attending to him with perfectly timed nods and winks, he had taken up with the far-too-stunning Ethiopian, Maharene Deresse.
An exquisite, tall, slender girl, she came from a place that mass-produced hatefully exquisite, mortifyingly tall, slender girls. Officially, in New York as an embassy civil servant, Sheena knew better. She knew Maharene was not as civil a servant as she contended and had taken to giving blowjobs for a posh escort service in Midtown.
It was crystal clear the escort was hitting on the biker, leaving Sheena with the impression she was too late.
Indeed, Maharene had already locked her big black eyes on his and, just then, he, sporting a suggestive smile, leaned to her. Cupping one hand over her ear and wandering her ample breasts with the other, he obviously said something unseemly.
Frowning and shaking her head, “no,” Maharene angrily pulled away. Whatever he was after, the Ethiopian’s negative response was emphatic, and despite her commanding presence, he instantly turned away, his wandering eyes venturing to another of Sheena’s friends, Etta Place, a lean redhead standing nearby.
Assuming he wanted a girl who would say “yes,” and knowing Etta likely would, Sheena turned aggressive, instinctively stepping into the breach of what she knew could not be more than a fleeting sexual vacuum.
For a brief moment, Sheena’s eyes met his, but a gay couple sashayed between them, intruding into the spell.
Maddeningly, the pair stopped to share a kiss, and to keep from losing touch with him a second time, Sheena stood on tiptoe. Nevertheless, when the gay kiss ended, a frowning Maharene was alone, and the biker had vanished, leaving the forlorn hooker probing fresher game. Sheena did a quick search for the sultry Etta as well, but she too had already turned her attention elsewhere.
Maharene, still looking about, greeted her in the friendly but slightly detached way Ethiopian girls do. “Selam New, Sheena,” she said brightly. “I only just saw Alya with that…with that Bishu, that Muslim creature of hers,” she caustically said. “You are among them tonight?” Sheena adored Maharene’s delicate English and always felt deficient in her presence.
Straight off and swiftly exhausting her full stock of Amharic words, Sheena replied, “Selam New, Maharene.”
“How nice to see you this day,” the African, cordially hugging her, said. “Oooo…so pretty,” she complimented, her delicate fingers fussing with Sheena’s knit Sherpa scarf. “Yes, so pretty. Do you find the party to your liking?”
In a measured tone and looking about nervously, Sheena lukewarmly conceded, “I guess it’s all right.” Changing the subject, Sheena asked, “Maharene, about the big guy, the one who just grabbed your boobs. You know the one, the Pagan gang member; where’d he go?”
Maharene’s demeanor instantly changed, and glowering she motioned over her shoulder to the hallway beyond. Sheena looked, but could not see him.
“Huh!” bahis şirketleri she grunted. “Don’t waste your time!” Maharene lectured snootily. “He is a douche, Sheena! Guess what? He wants to fuck me in the ass! Imagine? I only just met him! Nevertheless, he wants to fuck me in the ass!” She crossed her arms contemptuously, then smiled, adding, “So, hey. You are here with the popcorn lady?”
“With the…um…what kind of lady?”
“Ooooooolala! Then you are unaware?” Maharene, leaning suggestively, whispered sharply into the stunned girl’s ear.
“Seriously?” Sheena asked, incredulous. “Are you sure about this?” Maharene’s eyes widened, and she nodded emphatically.
“You did not know? It is such a very funny thing, Sheena. Bishu, that pig…he told me this secret. He is a pig!”
“I hate Bishu,” Sheena snapped. “But I’m glad you told me his secret, Maharene.” Redirecting the subject, she asked, “You wouldn’t have an extra OB-wan Kenobi, would you?” Hastily searching her congested purse, Maharene retrieved one, which she dangled in front of Sheena’s face like a just out of reach door prize.
“It is yours, Sheena. But first, you must tell me something,” the Ethiopian bargained. “Only then,” she added, waving the little plastic stick, “only then will I give you this…this, what do they call it? This, this crotch swab.”
Maharene, beaming expectantly and obviously, a skilled negotiator, proceeded to ask, “So what about you, Sheena? Did Bishu…you know…did the terrible man make you do it, the popcorn thing, the same way he made Alya do it?”
“No way!” Sheena, reminded of Maharene’s taste for gossip, stated her denial forcefully. “I would never do that. But thanks for the tampon.”
Whisking the slender tube from the Ethiopian’s supple fingers, she glanced around at the dozen or so partiers who had witnessed the little exchange. “Gee,” she called out to them, “maybe you all can follow me into the bathroom to help me change!”
Obsessed with finding the Pagan biker, Sheena smirked, stepped past the dazzling African, and slinked into the narrow hallway beyond.
— STAVE THREE — Romance at the Biker Cabin
“It’s me, Alya!” Sheena, foolishly staring into the lens, self-importantly beamed. “Yes! I’m up here in the mountains with you know whoooo…V-i-n-c-e-n-t! Say hi to Alya, Vinnie…say hi!”
Awkwardly, Sheena handed her phone to Vince, who, just as awkwardly, grinned, held the device at arm’s length, and cheerily, if gruffly said, “Hey, Alya baby! How ya doin’, Alya baby? Check ya later, Alya baby,” after which, he returned the device back on Sheena, who, sitting in all her morning gloriousness, was adorned in the big biker’s colossal, white, terrycloth robe.
Just as she planned, the little scene, perfectly choreographed, found her with her back to the cabin’s big picture window as Sheena, tightly held onto a tall glass with both hands; filled to the brim with steaming Café Misto, it was Vince’s favorite coffee; now, it was hers too. Sipping, she smirked.
Sheena’s gamble the morning after Zak’s party had paid dividends. Upon awakening, the giant biker found what she meant him to find, a strategically placed bra occupying her former place on the bed. Having scrawled her phone number across the cups, the unexpected happened: he called. Now, weeks later and after an epic narrative of back door fucking, the crafty girl had, along with the equally crafty 69er, turned into the club’s latest item.
Vince, splendidly naked, his fading erection peeking out from between muscular thighs, played cinematographer, and gazing at him, Sheena thought to herself, God, he is beautiful!
“Big smile, Sheena,” he playfully instructed. The elated girl radiated and waited as he zoomed in on her before moving to the bedazzling view of the serenity of the lake beyond the picture window.
Neglecting to mention the black flies that left her with immense red welts on her back, Sheena continued, saying, “Look, Alya! Can you stand it? Isn’t it the most gorgeous place? It’s even prettier than Central Park, don’t ya think? Vince, honey, point the phone at the shoreline down by the water. Anyway,” she continued, “we’re up here in the mountains at the club’s private cabin! It’s made of real logs! I’m so happy. Are you happy for me? Vince darling, move the camera around the room so Alya can see the fireplace and stuff? Alya, we’re in the Adirondack Mountains. I think it’s the Adirondacks, or maybe it’s the Catskills; I’m never sure which. Where are we, Vince darling?”
“It’s the Adirondacks, sweetie.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Anyway, it’s way, way far upstate, like in the wilderness! Vince is just so…so romantic! He insisted on bringing me here. Oh, and we came all this way on his bike! I’m making him do this video so you’ll be green with envy! Only kidding, hon! You know that, right?”
Vince, carefully panning the big room, did a slow, three-hundred-sixty degree turn. “See that giant fireplace Alya? Vince burns logs in it! Just like in olden days! He cuts down trees and everything! We — Vince and me — we smoke dope in front of the fire every night. So warm and cuddly, know what I mean?” Sheena winked idiotically.
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